Belated
by Moon1
Summary: Valentine's Night at Hawk's!


_Just a little Bootcamp exercise from last Valentine's Day. Thanks out to Desert Fox, Mickey, Cadet Deming, Hobeyjinn, and Slayne for the critiques. Enjoy_

* * *

Hawk cursed as he barked his shin against his coffee table, nearly upsetting the lit candles resting on top. He skidded onto one foot, breaking his momentum enough to ensure that the scented wax pillars didn't topple over. The last thing he needed was a burning house.

The heavy pounding on his door increased.

The scowl on his face twisted deeper as he limped to the door. After a quick check through the peep hole, he threw open the door. "WHAT!"

Lady Jaye was already saluting. "Sir, I'm sorry to-" Her words suddenly choked off with a sputter.

Sweaty and red-faced, Hawk stood before her dressed only in a pair of black satin pajama bottoms and a matching robe that had obviously been thrown on in great haste. The slick materials were full of static, and they clung to Hawk's damp body almost as if they were a second skin.

But her eyes were glued to his shoulder.

There, dangling from his shoulder, held in place by that same static, was a single red fishnet stocking.

Hawk unabashedly stared at the feminine garment before slowly, pointedly, looking back at Jaye. "Was there something I can do for you? SERGEANT?"

Jaye blanched. "N-nothing that can't wait for later," she said hastily. "Sorry. I'll just go. You and your, uh, lady-friend have a Happy Valentine's...Night."

At those words, the angry expression on Hawk's face melted away. "Oh believe me," he chuckled low in his throat. "It's no lady I've got in here." He started to close the door when suddenly, on impulse, he shouted out, "Oh, and, Sergeant Faireborn?"

Jaye jumped. "Y-yes, sir," she asked, blushing, unable to look him in the eye.

"I won't be in the office until later," he told her. "Much, much later. If anyone asks, I'm indisposed. Do you understand?"

Jaye twitched as she visibly fought the childish urge to stuff her fingers in her ears and flee gibbering. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Hawk nodded politely to her. "Good night, Sergeant."

He shut the door and watched Jaye through the peep hole as she beat a hasty retreat. Once he was sure she was gone he quickly shed his robe and dropped it on the couch. Carefully, he made his way to his basement door and opened it a crack. "Heads up, men," he called down. "We've got incoming." Without waiting for a response, he shut the door and walked over to the sliding glass patio panel at the back of his house. Ever so slightly, he pushed the heavy curtains aside and looked out. Shaking his head, he unlatched the door and slid it open.

Slinking through the doorway, sporting a red hand mark on his face, was Flint.

"I was hoping you wouldn't make it this year," Hawk told him, shutting the door.

Flint's dark eyes sparked indignantly. "This wasn't my fault, Hawk! Ja-"

"FAIREBORN," Hawk thundered. "You know the rule: Under no circumstances do I EVER want to know who 'she' is."

Flint rolled his eyes. "But we're married now!"

"It's the principle," Hawk told him, motioning for Flint to follow him into the kitchen. "Three fifths of the saps hiding out in my basement aren't married. If I let you husbands gab about your wives by name, how long do you think it'd be before the singles start to slip?" He opened his fridge and tossed Flint a Coors bottle. "And believe me, Flint. I do NOT want to know who is fraternizing with who this time."

The Warrant Officer twisted the top off his beer. "But, Hawk-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Hawk jabbed a finger at Flint. "You just remember that you and the other men are here on the personal sufferance of an old man going soft in the head! There was a time when the romantic troubles of the Joes would be none of my business." He snorted. "Hell, there was a time when troops prayed it would never become my business! But this demented greeting card holiday lowered morale so much the day after, even I started to feel damned sorry for you all. So!" He dropped into the chair next to Flint. "Here you all are, under my care the one night I risk my neck guarding your pitiable sixes from your pissed off sweethearts."

"Thank you, Hawk," Flint mumbled dutifully into his bottle.

"Damn right you thank me," the General stated, crossing his arms. "Your Lady isn't stupid, Flint. She knew I knew where you were." He smiled as the younger man blanched. "Don't worry. She left. She thought I was, ah, entertaining a lady myself-"

Flint spat out his beer and slammed the bottle onto the table. "WHOA," he yelled, stuffing his fingers into his ears. "Too much information, sir!"

Hawk smacked Flint on the back of his head. "Just for that," he swiped the beer from the table. "You can pay up the entrance fee without this."

A pained expression twisted the younger man's face. "C'mon, sir, do I really have to?"

The General was unmoved. "Solider, I made this rule to encourage you men to NOT screw up next year." He rolled his eyes. "Not that it's helped you any, but I do keep praying. So," he said, twirling the beer, "spit it out. What did you do, or didn't do, that requires my little haven for the amorously inept?"

"I resent that, sir-"

"You came crawling to me," Hawk pointed out. "You don't get to argue."

"But it's really wasn't my fault!"

"Son, we're men. It's always our fault," Hawk told him. "Even when it's not our fault, it's all our fault. You either defend yourself logically or you do the smart thing; shut up, count to ten, suck it up and apologize profusely."

"Yeah, right." Flint slumped in his chair. "Have YOU ever tried that, sir?"

Hawk took a long, silent sip. "Not when it counted," he admitted softly. "Of course, I was younger and dumber than you ever were. I flat out refused to suck it up."

Flint blinked, surprised at this confession. "So...what happened?"

Hawk took another long, silent sip and just stared off into space. "Are you going to tell me what happened tonight or not," he finally asked softly.

Flint grew quiet as he studied Hawk with dark, pondering eyes. "I think," he slowly said, rising, "that I'm going home to my wife."

"A good idea, son," Hawk agreed mildly, setting the beer down and standing up.

"Thanks for the beer, and..." He ran his hand awkwardly over his shortly cropped hair. "...I'm sorry about that girl-"

"Oh, hell," Hawk spat. "That was years ago! What kind of moping, bleeding heart fool do you take me for? Some kind of damned romantic?"

Flint's eyes darted to the basement door, where the failed Romeos of the Joe team were hiding out. He looked at the candles on the table, and then back at the General dressed in black satin. "Riiiiight. I don't know what I was thinking, sir."

"Neither do I," Hawk said. "So get the hell out of my house and back in your own!"

"Right." A lop-sided grin flashed in the dark. "Thanks, Hawk. Have a good party."

Hawk growled as he practically shoved Flint out the sliding door, and latched it tight after him. Turning, the General crossed his arms and listened to the sounds of the house. The faint noise of gruff laughter and the rattling of plastic poker chips could be heard drifting up from the basement. He shook his head at the men's sloppiness. If they didn't tone it down, they were going to be discovered. Walking over to the living room, Hawk turned the radio on to a soft jazz station, adjusting the volume so that it covered up the sounds of the men without disturbing the neighbors. He started to make his way to the basement door, wondering how many house rules the men had broken in the five minutes he'd been gone.

But something made him hesitate.

After a moment's deliberation, turned around and sat on his couch. Pulling his robe onto his lap, he fished his hand in it's pockets and, after a moment of fumbling, pulled out a black velvet jewelry box. Hesitant emotions flickered across his face as he looked at the little box. Finally, frowning, he opened it.

Inside was a man's well-worn, diamond and gold West Point ring.

He smiled as he slipped the familiar ornate band onto his left ring finger.

The smile saddened as he lifted the jeweler's cushion, revealing another ring, in miniature to his own and as shiny as the day it had been minted. Plainly made for a woman, it was so small that he could only fit it onto the first joint of his left pinky. He watched silently as the rings glittered dramatically in the candle light, bright as a promise against the black satin of his pants.

Behind him, the door to the basement opened. "Hawk?" Clutch poked his head out. "Where's that incoming?"

"With his wife," Hawk told him absently. "Where he belongs."

"Well, OK," Clutch shrugged. "How about you, sir? Dealing in or out?"

With a final sigh, Hawk stripped his fingers of the rings. "I'm in." He placed the rings back in the box and shut them away. "I'm in."


End file.
